No Place to Run

CHAPTER 30

WHEN an explosion rocked the house, Sam and his brothers flattened themselves on the ground, and Sam’s heart nearly stopped.

Sophie. Grenade.

Dear God, what had she done?

“Sam, no!” Garrett barked close to his ear.

He hadn’t even realized he’d gotten to his feet and run for the door until Garrett flattened him. He lay on the ground, Garrett sprawled on top of him, his gut about to explode with what-the-fuck.

“Goddamn it, Sam, we’re going to do this right, and that doesn’t include you getting your ass shot full of holes.”

“Get off me,” Sam gritted out. “I have to find her.”

The sound of a helicopter landing diverted his attention for all of two seconds as he glanced back to see Resnick hustle Marlene Kelly aboard.

Relief for his mother mixed with god-awful fear for Sophie.

Slowly Garrett moved off Sam, and Donovan and Ethan moved up beside them, guns drawn and trained toward the entrance of the house.

“We do this together,” Garrett said. “As a unit. Backup. Familiar concept? As in you go nowhere without it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam growled. “You get off way too much giving me orders.”

“Yeah, well, when your head is up your ass, someone has to give them.”

Ethan and Donovan crouched on either side of the entrance. Ethan held up one finger, then two, and when he popped the third up, he and Donovan swung around and bolted inside.

Sam and Garrett followed, then moved ahead beyond the foyer.

“We’re inside the house,” Sam said into his receiver. “Steele, Rio, give me your status.”

“Engaged,” came Steele’s short reply.

“Coming in from the west,” Rio said a moment later. “Cleared our area. Backing up Steele to clear the riffraff. No casualties to report.”

“Good,” Sam murmured. He hoped to hell he’d be able to say the same.

“Over here,” Ethan called from the left.

Sam, Garrett and Donovan carefully picked their way across the room to where Ethan stood with his rifle up and pointing down a hall.

“Holy hell,” Donovan muttered. “I’d say this is where the grenade went off.”

Sam swallowed. His stomach lurched and he swallowed again.

The room was toast. Rubble was everywhere. The walls had collapsed and the doorway was askew leading into the connecting room.

Carefully they picked their way through the destruction. Sam hoisted a large section of Sheetrock, but nothing was underneath it except more debris and the floor. He let it fall and continued a path into the adjoining room.

“There’s blood here,” Ethan said.

Sam hurried over to where Ethan stood. A beam from the doorway lay to the side, and there was a scraped area on the floor that looked as if someone had been pinned underneath the mess and had shoved their way out. The question was who? Sophie? Her father?

He glanced around the room, but it was silent except for the staccato of gunfire in the distance. There was no sign of Sophie or anyone else. Which meant she’d survived the blast. He could be thankful for that, at least, but she was still in the grip of her father. And that terrified him.

They pushed down the hallway, meticulously combing each of the rooms they encountered. There was nothing. No one. Not even hired help. Either everyone had fled or no one had ever been brought in.

Each time they came up empty, Sam’s hope sank a little further. He needed her safe. He needed her back with him.

At the end of the corridor, they reached a dead end. But when they turned into the room, guns up, ready to confront Alex and Tomas Mouton, they found only silence and an empty room.

“What have we missed?” Sam demanded.

His gaze swept the room again, looking for anything that didn’t fit. He frowned when he caught sight of a small splatter of blood on the polished marble. Head down, he searched the area around it, looking for more.

There, just a drop.

He followed the sparse sign and came face-to-face with the wood-paneled wood. Deep cherry. Custom crafted. It would have cost a fortune.

“What’s up?” Donovan asked.

“The blood trail ends here. There’s something behind here. Has to be.”

Donovan raised the stock of his rifle and rammed the butt into the wood. It held fast, but the thud sure as hell sounded hollow.

“Amateurs,” Garrett muttered.

He shoved by Sam and Donovan, pushed them back away from the wall and then fired a series of rounds into the panel. Wood splintered and fell away. Garrett lowered his gun and then stepped forward and kicked at the fragmented wood.

Ethan joined him, and the two men managed to knock a hole big enough for them to get through. Ethan stuck his head in and then whistled.

“Give me a light,” he called back.

Donovan yanked a small flashlight from his belt and thrust it into his brother’s hand. Ethan flipped it on and then shined it inside the hole.

“What is it?” Sam asked impatiently.

Ethan withdrew. “Looks like an elevator shaft. No elevator though. If they took it down, it’s probably sitting there. Don’t see a way to make it come up, so it probably requires a security code or key inside.”

“We’ll rappel down,” Sam said.

Donovan sighed. “I knew you were going to say that.”

Ethan gave a slight smile. “Haven’t gotten over your fear of heights, flyboy?”

“I like heights just fine. In an airplane. Or helicopter. I don’t like dangling from a rope.”

“Let’s go.” Garrett broke in. “Save the chitchat for later.”

Sam was already in the process of securing the hook around the steel beam that framed the shaft. After he was securely belted and had tested the hook’s hold, he stepped off into darkness and began a rapid descent.

“Goddamn it, Sam, slow your ass down,” Ethan growled.

He estimated they were thirty feet down when his boots knocked against a hard surface.

“Throw a beam down here, Ethan,” he called.

Just a few feet above him, Ethan turned on the flashlight and directed it down. He landed beside Sam a few seconds later and flashed the light across the surface. They were on top of the elevator.

Donovan and Garrett landed on either side, and while Ethan held the flashlight, Sam bent down to pry open the hatch. As he pulled upward, Ethan shined the light inside the elevator, and Donovan and Garrett pointed their rifles downward.

“Clear,” Garrett said.

Not waiting for more, Sam threw the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, then knelt and angled his lower body through the opening. He dropped down and waited with seething impatience for his brothers to join him.

“Goddamn, it’s dark,” Donovan said after they pried open the elevator doors. He left the others, and Sam could hear him sliding his hands over a surface. “We’re in a damn tunnel.”

Ethan raised the light, but Sam put his hand out and pushed Ethan’s arm down. “Douse the light.”

They moved stealthily down the corridor. Sam pressed, almost at a run. When they rounded a bend, he blinked as a distant light source came into view. He held up his hand and motioned silently for his brothers to fan out.

They inched toward the opening, and Sam strained his ears to hear something, anything. As they got closer, the hum of fluorescent light tubes filled the space. Otherwise it was quiet. Too damn quiet.

Sam and Donovan on one side of the tunnel, Garrett and Ethan on the other, the two pairs faced each other, guns up. Sam held up one finger and then two. On three they burst into the opening.

Sam pulled up short at the sight that greeted him. A black Hummer was parked several feet away, and to the side lay Alex Mouton. Or what was left of him.

“Holy fuck,” Donovan breathed. “Someone blew half his head off.”

Garrett cocked an eyebrow. “Our girl?”

Sam looked around and then in the direction the Hummer was pointed, to see another tunnel. “Tomas must have her. If she shot Alex, where is she now?”

Ethan moved in front of the Hummer and stared down at the concrete. “There was another vehicle here. There are tire marks. Looks like whoever left was in a big hurry.”

“Sam, I have a relay from Resnick.”

Sam cupped a hand over his earpiece.

“Go ahead, Steele.”

“Resnick’s in the air. Currently tracking a Hummer driving balls to the wall off road toward Del Rio. Kicking up a dust trail and evidently not too worried about being seen. He thinks he saw Sophie in the passenger seat. He’s going to stay on it.”

Sam’s pulse kicked up. Nervous energy plowed through his veins and made him jittery. He hadn’t felt this kind of adrenaline rush since his first mission.

“Copy that, Steele. We’re on it. Are you and Rio okay?”

“P.J. and Cole are kicking some mercenary ass. We’re laying low and letting them clean up the stragglers. We’re good. Go get your woman.”

Sam looked over at Donovan. “Time to show me your skills, tech guy. Get us the hell in that Hummer.”

Donovan raised a brow, walked around to the driver’s seat, opened the door and stuck his hand in. A second later, the jangle of keys sounded, and Donovan held them up with a smirk.

“Too easy, drill sergeant.”

SOPHIE bounced and pitched forward as they hit another rise. Tomas was single-mindedly focused on the path in front of them, and she watched closely while the gun inched lower as his attention became less focused on her.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t make a sound even when her head smacked the side of the window. The last thing she wanted was to draw his attention to her. As haphazardly as he was driving, it probably wouldn’t take much for that damn gun to go off, and right now it was still aimed at her.

Where were they going? What could he possibly hope to accomplish? He didn’t have the key. All his “protection” was back at the house, hopefully getting their asses handed to them by Sam and his men.

Which left her with Tomas. A suddenly scary thought given the fact that he’d just manned up for the first time in his life and stood up to his brother. The last thing she needed was for him to be high on adrenaline and confidence.

She glanced nervously at Tomas when he juggled the gun and tried to reach into his pocket, all the while holding his finger way too damn close to the trigger. She was going to die because this idiot was an inept fool.

He swerved, hit a rock, and his hand fell off the wheel. For a moment they careened dangerously to the right. He swore and yanked the wheel back to the left. Miraculously, the vehicle righted, and they continued on their haphazard trek across the rugged terrain.

Tomas yanked a cell phone out of his pocket and thrust it—and the gun—in her direction.

“You call him,” he demanded. “You call him and tell him I want that goddamn key or I’ll kill you and his brat.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. An hysterical bubble rose in her throat and escaped through lips that flapped like a fish gasping for air on dry land.

“I don’t know how to contact him, Tomas. I’ve never called him. Shouldn’t you know how to call him? You were holding his mother hostage for God’s sake.”

He swung at her with the stock of the pistol, but she dodged and his hand hit the headrest instead. The Hummer swerved again, and something snapped inside her. Sam wasn’t going to get her out of this. Neither was Garrett or the fourteen jillion other men KGI employed.

If she was going to survive this, if she was going to protect her child, she was going to have to do it herself.

When Tomas started to swing at her again, she reached up and grabbed his wrist with both hands and yanked as hard as she could.

Curses filled the air. The Hummer swerved, and he grasped the wheel desperately with his left hand to keep control. He punched his right hand back, trying to hit her in the face, but she dodged and then sank her teeth into his wrist.

She gagged as the taste of blood filled her mouth. He wrenched away and then swung at her with his left hand. As soon as his hand left the wheel, the Hummer hit a huge bump and the world went crazy around her.

Up became down and down became up. She had the vague sensation that she was in deep shit, and then she closed her eyes and prayed.

Her head cracked against something hard. Pain speared through her hand. And then suddenly everything went still.

Though her head throbbed, she cautiously cracked her eyes open. The Hummer had righted. She looked over at Tomas to see him slumped over the steering wheel. Blood splattered the windshield in front of him and she could see it dripping down the side of his head.

Her hand hurt.

Oh God, she was losing it. Was that all she could come up with? She’d just flipped a gazillion times with a man holding a gun, and the only thing that registered was that her fingers ached like a son of a bitch.

She looked down to see her pinkie and ring finger already swelling. The angle of her ring finger looked off, but her brain was so fuzzed all she could do was stare dumbly at her hand.

Out. Get out, Sophie.

She reached across her body with her left hand to open the door. Let it open. Please. She didn’t want to have to crawl out the window.

It popped open a few inches and stuck stubbornly.

She bumped at it with her shoulder but only managed to move it a bit. Swearing in frustration, she rotated her body and leaned back toward Tomas, praying the whole time that the bastard was dead. She braced her feet against the door and pushed with all her strength.

The metal shrieked in protest, but she managed to pry it open enough that she could get out. Eagerly she scooted forward until her legs stuck through the opening. When she automatically reached for the door frame to brace herself, she hissed in pain and yanked her injured hand back.

She shook it to try and assuage the horrible ache, and finally opted to rest it firmly against her chest.

“Let’s try this again,” she murmured.

Realizing the vest was in the way and that she had a better chance of squeezing through the opening without it, she fumbled with one hand on the fastenings until she loosened the vest enough to shrug out of it. Then she sucked in all her breath and eased her way between the door and the truck frame.

As soon as she was clear, she sagged against the beat-up Hummer and blew her breath out in a long exhale.

Somehow she’d come out of this alive. She took it as a sign that someone was looking out for her. The thought bolstered her flagging spirits, and she stared out over the rocky terrain. They’d driven several miles from the house, and the logical thing to do would be to retrace that path.

As she pushed away from the truck, she heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance. She put her uninjured hand to her forehead and scanned the horizon.

A chill went up her spine when she spotted the other Hummer tearing across the rock and sand. She’d seen her father go down. Half the side of his head was gone. He was dead. This wasn’t him.

Her heart started thumping fiercely. She took one step forward. Her knees shook, and her mouth went dry. She took one more step when the truck hurled over a rise about fifty yards away. It fishtailed, then came to a grinding halt. The doors flew open, and she heard her name shouted.

Relief poured over her soul like a waterfall.

Sam.

She wanted to run to him, but she was rooted to the spot where she stood like some statue. Sam and Garrett piled out and Donovan and Ethan jumped out behind them. Suddenly their expression changed from concern and relief to horror.

She frowned.

“Sophie!” Sam yelled.

Sam and Garrett broke into a run, and Sam yanked his gun from his belt and aimed at a point beyond her.

Stunned, she turned to see what they were seeing. She recoiled when she saw Tomas stumble from the wreckage. He looked like hell, blood covering most of his face and head. But he took jerky steps toward her, and worse, he had the gun in his hand, and it was pointed directly at her. And she was no longer wearing her vest.

There was a hollow-eyed, vacant expression hovering over him like gloom. Sophie wasn’t sure he had a clue who he was, where he was or what the hell he was doing, but he had that gun pointed at her, and he seemed determined to shoot.

She saw his finger tighten and she hunched in on herself, covering her belly as she tried to drop to safety. The shot exploded across the space just as a blur of movement caught her eye and Garrett exploded past her.

He flew, literally flew, through the air, arms outstretched as he threw himself in front of her body.

The sound of the bullet smacking his flesh was a sound she’d remember for the rest of her life.

“No!” she cried.

She dropped over his body just as a second shot exploded through the air. And a third. She didn’t look up.

“Garrett. Garrett!”

She raged at him, beating against his Kevlar vest in an attempt to get him to answer her.

He groaned and rolled to his back, holding up his arms to fend her off.

“God, woman, are you trying to finish me off?”

Tears filled her eyes. Rage suffused her face until her cheeks burned with heat.

“Why did you do that? Are you an idiot?” she yelled. “You don’t even like me, Garrett. How could you throw yourself in front of me? What if you die?”

She broke down as sobs tore painfully from her throat. She lowered her head and gathered his large body as close to her as she could, while she wept on his neck.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

His hand traced gently through her hair, and then he gathered the strands in his fingers and pulled carefully until her head came away from his chest and he could look her in the eye.

“Because that’s what family does,” he said in a soft, pain-filled voice.